Warren Murphy: By Eminent Domain

A bony hand slithered out, clasping on to the uppermost metal rail of the fire escape. Chiun tuned himself to the vibrations of the men climbing the stairs. When the first commando was nearly in striking distance, the Master of Sinanju nodded sharply.

"Now," he hissed.

Remo took the cue. Like a shot he flipped up and over. Shoulders didn't have time to brush the ledge before he was out in open air. He dropped like a stone, his legs curled tightly up to his trunk. Three stories down, his legs unbuckled, absorbing the fall like coiled springs.

He fell so fast the men in the alley hadn't seen him. Goggles aimed skyward, they continued to shoot blindly into the air even as Remo spun to the fire escape.

Remo slapped the metal twice. Flying hands cracked the heavy brackets that fastened the crisscrossing ladder to the rear wall. Three stories up, the Master of Sinanju shattered the upper bolts. Vibrations raced up and down the zigzagging structure, meeting with explosive force dead center.

A sound like that of church bells striking a sour note rang out in the cold night.

The Russians in the alley stopped shooting. On the fire escape the rest of the men froze.

In the ensuing silence, all ears heard the first gentle creak. It was followed by a groan.

And like a great metal dinosaur surrendering its last, the fire escape began to pull slowly away from the wall. By the time bolts started shooting like bullets into the side of the adjacent building, the men were already panicking.

Russians on the ground tried to run. Those high up on the escape scrambled desperately for the top. Men jumped and screamed as, with a shriek of angry frozen metal, the fire escape buckled and dropped. Weighted down with its cargo of twenty-three Russian soldiers, it crashed in a mangled heap on top of eleven more in the alley below.

As clouds of snow rose into the night, seven men who had avoided the crash attempted to flee the alley. Remo fell in among them.

Hands and feet cut through them like a thresher's blade. He finished off any who had survived the crash just as quickly. Leaving the dead behind, Remo raced around the front of the building, ducking through the main entrance.

Two men lurked inside the door. As he flew past, Remo launched an elbow into each skull.

Another group of four commandos stood in the ground-floor hallway, backs braced against the wall, guns at the ready. They peered up into the dark depths of the staircase from which shots could be heard.

Remo flew past the men, a flattened palm snapping out as he passed each in turn. Heads buckled plaster in a cascade of dust as Remo bounded into the stairwell.

On the first flight of stairs he met another six. Screams and severed limbs fell in his wake.

At the roof door he nearly plowed into the Master of Sinanju. The old Asian was springing into the landing.

Chiun's weathered face was tight with concern. "How many?" the old man demanded.

"We got a total of forty-one with the fire escape and in the alley. I got twelve more inside. What about you?"

"Ten came through the roof door."

"No kidding?" Remo said with a deep frown. "Then that's it for the ones here. Anna said the rest were in Russia. So much for the great Master from Sinanju who isn't from Sinanju. He must have been one of these guys." He waved a thick-wristed hand out toward the open roof door.

Chiun shook his head firmly. "No," he insisted. "There is one more."

"You sure? My count makes it-" He stopped dead.

The two men still stood inside the open door. Chiun's back was to the roof. As Remo spoke, he spotted movement over the old man's shoulder.

A dark figure had just scurried over the ledge. It landed on the roof on two certain feet. Slivered eyes sought out Remo and Chiun.

Lavrenty Skachkov no longer wore the off-white uniform of the other Institute soldiers. He was dressed entirely in black. A stiff wind touched his closecropped white hair.

Chiun sensed the movement behind him. He followed Remo's gaze, turning back to the roof. When he saw Skachkov, his face turned to stone.

"Guess you were right with your adding," Remo said. He started out the door, but a touch to his elbow stopped him.

"Beware the false Master, Remo," Chiun cautioned. "For although the scrolls record Wang's prophecy, they do not foretoken the victor."

Remo glanced out at Lavrenty Skachkov. The young man stood a few feet in from the edge of the roof. Waiting.

He seemed flawlessly balanced, spine in perfect alignment to the rest of his body. The Russian's hands were free at his sides as he watched Remo.

"You've got a lot to learn about pep talks," Remo said.

When Remo turned and walked back out the door, the Master of Sinanju came and stood just outside the door, a pinch of worry on his weathered face.

On cautious, gliding feet Remo crossed over to where Skachkov waited. He stopped six feet shy of the Russian.

For a cold moment, neither man spoke. They seemed to be sizing each other up. As the wind whirled around them, biting at their backs, Remo studied the Russian's lips.

A cold hiss of air escaped as thin white steam into the breeze.

"So what do we do now?" Remo asked when the silence had gone on too long. "Stare at each other until we both turn into ice sculptures?"

Skachkov slowly shook his head. "Those who called me Master are dead," he said in heavily accented English. "To avenge them and truly earn the title, I must defeat you. Both of you," he called over to the Master of Sinanju.

Chiun still stood over near the entrance to the stairwell. His frozen expression did not change.

Before Skachkov, Remo's face was also impassive.

"Gotta get through me first, sweetheart," he said coldly.

Something like the beginning of a superior smile touched the corners of Lavrenty Skachkov's lips. It did not have time to form completely before the Russian lashed out.

In a wink he was up and out, his hand cutting air. All the hours of training, all the pain he had endured, everything he had learned was focused in that single moment of perfection. And to the Russian's delight, his target seemed oblivious to the crushing blow that was steering a deadly course to his wideopen, exposed throat.

Chapter 34

Skachkov's flashing hand got far enough to compress air to a microsliver before Remo's Adam's apple. At the last instant Remo tipped to one side.

The Russian's face grew shocked. Forward momentum unstoppable in the stroke, Skachkov flew forward. Bones cracked and muscles tore. His arm popped audibly from its socket as he landed face first on the roof. Scraping skin from chin and neck, he slid to a painful, protracted stop, finally coming to a rest at the toes of a pair of plain wooden sandals. He spit bloody gravel from his mouth.

"That's it?" Remo complained. "That's Wang's big bad prophecy? You got me all worked up for some huge Godzilla vs. Megalon showdown. I could see him breathing, for crying out loud." Stepping over, he toed Skachkov onto his back.

The Russian groaned in agony.

The force of the unspent blow had cracked loose several ribs. A fracture split his sternum just over his heart.

"Prophecies are not always clear," Chiun said, puzzlement evident in his own voice. He poked Lavrenty in the chest with his toe. The Russian screamed. "Still, most are better than this," he added, stroking his beard.

Remo sighed. "Maybe we shouldn't gripe. For once we got off easy." He turned his attention to Skachkov. "Okay, twinkle toes, Anna told us there were only 144 of you guys here. That right?" To insure a truthful answer, he kicked the Russian in his dislocated shoulder.

"Yes!" Skachkov cried.

"That's all of them, then, Little Father. Except for the ones Anna said are still in Russia, the armies of death have taken a powder." He motioned to the prone Lavrenty Skachkov. "You want to do the honors?"